It Only Takes a Moment
by Aurora Nova
Summary: Based on a true event. Quick one-shot.


IT ONLY TAKES A MOMENT

A "Quantum Leap" fan-fic by Aurora*Nova

(Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Sam or Al; the concept of "Quantum Leap" is the property of Donald Belisarius. This story is based on an actual event.)

The bright blue-white light was dimming, and once again I found myself in someone else's body. I guess this wasn't my Leap home.

I was sitting on a well-worn couch, holding a small spoon with a pudding-like paste on it. Waiting to receive that paste, sitting up in a high chair perched in front of me, was a baby boy, who was perhaps only a year and a half old. The TV was turned on just beyond, but the program didn't look familiar to me.

"Sharon, are you okay?" a man asked. I turned toward him. He appeared to be in his thirties, flecks of gray in his dark hair and beard. His sleeves were rolled up and he held a spatula.

"I'm fine," I mumbled. Great, I was a woman again! And if the two people with me were an indication, I was a wife and mother.

"Supper should be ready in a little bit," he said, still looking keenly at me. "How's he doing?" He nodded at the little boy.

I realized the baby was still waiting for the spoonful of food I was holding, and awkwardly but gently shoved it into the boy's mouth. Most of it missed, though, and I looked around for something to clean up the mess. "He's doing fine," I said, a bit too brightly. The boy obliged by starting to fuss. The man handed me a cloth diaper that had been draped on my shoulder. Embarrassed, I dabbed at the baby's face, which wasn't easy as he kept squirming away.

"I think he's tired," said the man. He leaned in closer to the baby. "Are you tired, Alex? Hmm? Are you ready to go beddy-bye?" He made loud smooching noises against the baby's cheek, tickling him with the beard until the boy giggled.

"He's got food all over his face," I pointed out. "You're going to get it all over your beard."

"I don't care about that," Sharon's husband said dismissively. "The beard will wash." Something sizzled loudly in the kitchen just beyond the corner and he withdrew, calling over his shoulder. "I'll try to keep things warm while you get Alex settled down."

Alex may have been tired, but he also seemed to know instinctively that I was not his mother. While adults very often accept what they see at face value, children are…for the most part…pure and innocent. It's harder to fool them into believing you're somebody you're not. And Alex was no exception. From his perspective, his mother had suddenly disappeared, to be replaced by a middle-aged man in his mother's clothing. He began to fuss and squirm again in his high chair.

"Oh boy," I muttered. I glanced around and found a small baby bottle full of juice. I offered that to the baby, but he only began crying harder.

"What's the matter with Alex?" the man called from the kitchen.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "He must really be tired." Not knowing what else to do at this point, I turned my attention to the television, which was playing the movie, "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" In desperation I pointed and tried to call Alex's attention to the screen. After a few moments, he settled down, and then began to giggle and point at the TV as the animated rabbit cavorted on screen. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a temporary respite, I knew, and I used that time to wonder who I was, where I was, and what did I have to do to leap out.

"Cute little movie," remarked Al, causing me to start violently. How had I not heard the Imaging Chamber door?

Alex turned his attention from the TV to my holographic companion. "Cute little boy, too, Sam," said Al. "How old is he? Two years? Eighteen months? You're gonna have to wean him off that bottle soon," he advised, as if I planned to be around to raise the boy.

"Al, I'm really glad to see you!" I breathed. "I'm a woman again! I'm Alex's mom!"

"Yeah, I can see that," drawled Al. "It's nineteen-eighty-nine. Your name is Sharon Duncan, you're thirty-two years old, and as you've already figured out, you're Alex's mother."

"What am I here to do, Al?" I whispered. "Sharon's husband is just around the corner in the kitchen, so we have to be quiet."

"YOU have to be quiet, Sam," Al grinned smugly. "And your HUSBAND'S-" he put special emphasis on the word, "-name is Brad. Anyway, you need to get Alex out of his high chair and clean him up. He needs a bath."

I gaped. "A bath? Al, I can't give a baby a bath!"

"Sure you can, Sam," Al assured me. "You've got half a dozen doctorate degrees floating around, remember? I'm sure one of them covers child care." He wasn't helping matters, and worst of all he knew it. He was having fun at my expense, and while it irritated me, it also told me he wasn't sure what I was supposed to do.

I carefully pulled Alex out of his high chair and, following Al, carried him through the house to the bathroom. "I'm….uh…going to give….Alex….a bath," I announced to Brad as we passed the kitchen.

Brad didn't look up from the pan he was tending. "Good idea," he affirmed. "I thought he was smelling a bit ripe when I nuzzled him."

Just around the corner from the kitchen were two bedrooms and a bathroom. One of the bedrooms was set up as a nursery, so I headed there first. As I moved to put the baby in the crib, however, a large black cat looked up at me sleepily and suspiciously.

"Ki-ki!" Alex declared happily and wiggled to get down.

"Um….Al?" I hesitated. I knew the old wives' tales that cats stole away a baby's breath if they were in the crib with the child was just that….an old wives' tale. But this was a pretty big cat, and he didn't look too happy about being woken up. I wasn't sure whether it was safe to put the baby in the crib with him.

"It's okay, Sam," Al assured me. "According to Ziggy, the cat's more afraid of the baby than the other way around. He'll get out once you put Alex in the crib."

Al was right. After a few moments of being patted…hard…and having his tail pulled, the cat had had enough and leaped out, exiting the room to find somewhere quieter to sleep. I was somewhat relieved to realize that Al and Ziggy had been right: despite the baby's rough play, the cat never hurt him, even when his tail was being pulled.

Knowing Alex would be safe in his crib, and under Al's tutelage, I left him there and ran the bath water. Alex had grown fussy again and began to whimper and cry, until Al started in making goofy faces at him. In spite of all the distractions I managed somehow to get the baby clean, re-diapered and dressed for the night.

"Supper's ready, hon!" Brad called from the other room.

"Okay," I called back. "Be there in a little bit!" I directed my next comment to Al, who was still making goofy faces at Alex, who crowed happily and waved his stuffed dinosaur at my friend. "You still haven't told me what I'm here to do, Al."

"You're here to save a little boy's life," he replied soberly.

A thrill of fear shot through me and I looked at the baby in the crib, who was finally settling down and getting drowsy. "Not Alex!" I exclaimed.

Al consulted his technicolored handset and shook his head. "No, Sam, it's not Alex." I breathed a sigh of relief. I might not have been his real parent, but already I was beginning to bond to the little boy.

"Later this evening, across town, a little boy is going to choke to death unless you can get there in time to save him," Al said soberly.

"Across town?" I said, a bit too loudly, and Alex roused himself. I soothed him and lowered my voice. "How do I get across town, Al?" I demanded. "WHY do I go across town? What excuse do I give to Brad out there for doing it?"

"I don't know, Sam," my companion admitted, "but you'll have to find some reason, or that little boy is going to die."

I tried to focus on Brad during dinner, as he seemed to want to talk about things going on in his and Sharon's lives. The television remained on while the movie played itself out. We could see it from our vantage point in the dining room area that was really just an extension of the living room. I knew that I was poor company, though. I couldn't stop thinking about that unknown little boy, how he would die if I couldn't find an excuse to leave Brad and Alex and get to him in time.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Brad asked at one point. "You seem awfully quiet." He peered at me keenly, sensing something was wrong.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "I can have quiet moments, can't I?"

"Hon, let's be honest," he drawled. "Since I've known you, you've never been the quiet type."

"There's always a first time for everything," I smiled.

Brad didn't answer. Distracted by the television commercial, he chuckled. "Now THERE'S something that's kind of cool," he grinned, nodding toward the TV. The commercial was advertising a talking Roger Rabbit doll. It was one of those pull-string types of stuffed dolls that were so popular three decades before. I remembered a flash of my sister Katie with a talking Casper the Ghost doll.

"I remember those!" I exclaimed.

Brad looked confused. "You couldn't," he denied. "That's a brand-new toy."

"I know," I admitted, "but I remember Casper the Ghost, and….and Bugs Bunny!" Bugs Bunny had been mine. He was much cooler than Casper the Ghost.

"Yeah," Brad confirmed. "I remember those, too. I think my brother had one."

I heard the Imaging Chamber door slide open, and Al stepped out from behind Brad. "Sam, I think you're on to something! Ziggy says the chances of success are increasing!"

The commercial finished with the locations of where the Roger Rabbit toy was available, and I remembered earlier how much the baby, Alex, had giggled and laughed at the cartoon character on the TV screen.

"I'll bet Alex would like that toy," I mused.

"I'll be he would too," said Brad. "But K-Mart's all the way across town."

"Sam, that's got to be the connection!" Al crowed. "Ziggy says the boy died at a large, chain department store!"

"It's not really that far, is it?" I asked.

"Just a couple of miles," both men confirmed for me. Al did a double-take at Brad, and then added, "You could get there in ten minutes or less."

Brad continued, "But it's kind of late to be going out now, isn't it? I mean, just for a toy."

I thought about it for about ten seconds. "If I don't go now," I said carefully, "I'll never get another chance. You know how fast these things get snapped up."

Brad considered. "You're right about that," he said. "But still, I mean, it's just a toy. He doesn't HAVE to have it."

"But we both know he'd love it, right?" I pressed. I had to get Brad's approval on this. I didn't want to stir up any resentment between husband and wife once I leaped.

"Oh yeah, I know he'd love it." Brad was silent for a few moments. "Well, if you want to get it for him, go ahead," he said finally. "I'm not going to stop you."

"Great!" I exclaimed. "I'll go right after supper!" A quick look at Al confirmed I'd have at least that much time before I'd have to leave.

"What about the dishes?" Brad demanded. "It can wait until you do the dishes, can't it? I cooked, you clean, remember?"

I glanced at Al, who shook his head slightly. "I'll do the dishes when I come back," I said. "I promise!"

Brad gave me a rueful look, then sighed. "Fine, then. Just be careful!"

"I will!" I promised, and then hurried through the rest of my dinner. Fifteen minutes later, after another admonishment from Brad to "be careful", I was in the car, backing down the driveway. I got as far as the end of the drive when I realized I had no idea which way to go.

"Take a left at the end of the street, Sam," Al said as he appeared in the seat next to me. Under his guidance I set off. "You'd better take the tollway," he advised. "You'll get across town a lot quicker that way." With Al as my personal GPS, I was soon parking the car in the huge lot in front of K-Mart. Once inside, I began to scan the crowds of shoppers for a little boy whom Al had told me was about two or three years old. I didn't see anyone that fit that description. Cruising up and down the aisles with my empty shopping cart, I began to think I might be in the wrong place.

"Al, is Ziggy SURE the boy died in a K-Mart?" I whispered. "Maybe it was another department store?"

A woman with her arms full of goods stared at me as she sidled past me in the aisle. I merely smiled and continued on my way.

"This is the place, alright," Al confirmed.

"Then why don't I see anyone with a little boy?" I hissed.

"I don't know, Sam, but you better make sure you get one of those toys."

"Oh, yeah, right!" I headed for the toy aisles and found them crowded with people. None of the children tagging along were the little boy I was looking for. Most were either the wrong age or the wrong gender.

"Why are there so many people here at this time of night?" I muttered.

A tall black man grinned at me. "I know, right?" he said. "We still got two months to go before Christmas, but everyone wants to get their stuff early."

I smiled back. "Well, better early than late, I suppose."

He laughed. "You got that right! If you get here too late, there ain't nothing left to get!" He waved and moved on.

I found one of the last few talking Roger Rabbit dolls the store offered and realized he was probably right. If Sharon had waited, she wouldn't have been able to get one for Alex.

Dispirited, and feeling like I had failed, I moved toward the checkout. "Al, I can't believe we couldn't find him," I murmured. "I mean, I know this is a major chain department store, but are you really SURE this is where we were supposed to be?"

"Ziggy's sure, Sam," Al said, "and that's good enough for me." He didn't seem too worried, which was uncharacteristic for him. I sighed and pushed my cart into the check-out lane. The cashier rang me up and I paid for the doll.

"Have a good evening," she wished me, and I thanked her and nodded.

A gagging noise from the next lane over caught my attention. I turned to look and saw a small boy, perhaps two or three years old, sitting in a shopping cart. He was choking, and his face was going red.

"Spit it out, Johnny!" his mother said anxiously.

"Pat him on the back," the cashier at that station said.

Johnny's mother patted him on the back, but Johnny still couldn't breathe. His face became redder.

"Dammit, Johnny, spit it out!" his mother cried frantically. But Johnny couldn't spit it out and I knew it. This was what I'd come here for.

"Turn him upside down!" I called, but they didn't hear me. Johnny mother had him bent over double in the cart seat, pounding on his back. "No!" I called out again, "Turn him upside down!"

"Call 9-1-1," the cashier at my station cried.

Johnny's face was tinged with purple, and I knew there was no time left: I had to act. Leaving everything at the register, I flew around to the other lane and hauled Johnny out of the cart, turning him upside down and holding him up by his ankles. I gave him a couple of gentle shakes, and something rattled onto the floor. It was a piece of hard candy.

Immediately, Johnny began to howl and cry.

"Help me get him upright," I said to the cashier, and we set him back on his feet again. His mother scooped him up and began shouting at him.

"Dammit, Johnny, I told you to spit it out!" she cried, but she hugged him tight to her breast.

"Hey, it's okay," I told her, looking into her eyes, which were wide with fear. "Just hug him. He's scared, and so are you, but it's going to be okay now."

"Oh my god, thank you so much," the woman exclaimed. "How can I ever thank you enough?"

"Don't let him eat hard candy," I advised. "He's too young for that."

"I won't!" she promised. "Never again! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're welcome," I smiled. "I've got a little one like him at home, so I know how you feel."

With that I turned to retrieve Sharon's purse and purchase, and headed for the door. Al met me outside with a thumbs-up. "Good job, Sam!" he congratulated me. "Little Johnny's going to be okay now."

"That's it?" I asked. "Then why haven't I leaped yet?"

"Because Johnny wanted to say 'thank you,' personally, Sam," Al replied. He moved to one side and a young man stepped into view. He was in his early twenties, clean-shaven, wearing a lab coat and carrying a piece of paper, which he turned over to show me.

"Thank you, Dr. Beckett," it read, "for saving my life when I was a little boy. My mother never forgot what that lady did for me all those years ago, and now I know it was really you. I still don't eat hard candy." He grinned at me.

"Johnny, here, is one of our lab assistants at the Project, Sam," Al told me. "He knew you wouldn't be able to hear him, but he still wanted to thank you himself."

"You're welcome, Johnny," I heard myself say, as the blue-white light enveloped me again.

END


End file.
